


The Man With No Name

by suzvoy



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-01
Updated: 2004-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzvoy/pseuds/suzvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels a little like destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man With No Name

## The Man With No Name

by Suz

<http://suzvoy.livejournal.com>

* * *

He's in Metropolis when it happens. 

Lex is driving, trying to decide if he should actually arrive for his business lunch on time when everything...shifts. 

He doesn't remember it happening, but when his synapses start firing again, when his brain resumes normal operations, he's on the other side of the road, gasping like he's drowning, clutching - damn near hugging - the steering wheel. 

It was like that before, in the cornfield. Death falling from the sky towards him and he jumped, hoped and found himself in a truck with a kid he didn't know touching his face. 

And his father actually holding him. 

He hates that he remembers that most of all. 

Motor functions seem like important things to check, so he wiggles his extremities. He may be giggling as he does so, but he just got hit by something that could easily give a tornado the finger, then sleep with its sister and not give a fuck. He figures he's allowed. 

After ascertaining that everything's still attached - and apparently in working order - he fumbles to unhook his seatbelt. The 'ping' of it keeps replaying itself in his head, over and over, as he tries to focus his eyes on something outside the Mercedes, outside _him_. 

It wasn't just him. Not by a long shot. There are...fuck, there are a _lot_ of cars out there, looking like twisted doppelgangers of themselves through the smashed remnants of his windscreen. 

He moves with no clear intent other than to get the door open and it does so easily, swinging as elegantly as ever. But then it wasn't that side of the car that got hit. 

Walking seems doable and someone may be asking him if he's all right, but as he checks his face and head with his hands, he realises that he is un-fucking-touched. No cuts, no bruises, no head injury. Nothing. 

It feels a little like destiny. 

It's a feeling he's missed since Clark went away. 

He's moving with intent this time, practically stalking through small shards of glass and countless hub cabs, and there are people yelling, people _screaming_ , and some of them shouldn't be moved but the ones that can be, the ones in imminent danger, those are the ones he focuses on. 

He just. Moves. 

And his hands are wrapping around car doors in a way that seems a thousand kinds of familiar because it's something he's seen done a thousand times before...and it's not his own hands doing this, it's Clark's, he's watching Clark pull the metal and help these people because he has never ever been this strong- 

_Adrenaline_ , his mind tells him, _you nearly died_. _Just a few moments ago_. _Adrenaline_. 

-and fuck, all those pieces of bullshit Clark told him over the years were a lot more believable than he ever realised. 

A car explodes somewhere but he barely feels it, a light breeze over his skin in comparison to _this_ , focusing solely on the hands that are pulling, pushing, _breaking_... 

And right then. Right. Then. 

He understands Clark. 

He _gets_ it. 

Sirens are coming from somewhere and just as he's helping a woman to the sidewalk, Superman arrives. Probably straight from some mudslide in Outer Mongolia or something. 

He zips around, helping where others couldn't, x-raying to see if people are safe to move. All the things he always does. Being generally 'super'. 

Lex doesn't begrudge him that. Not one bit. Though he still thinks Lois deserves to die for coming up with the name. 

When it's over, when he's been looked over and the seriously injured have been taken away, he sits on the edge of the kerb and holds out his hands. Turns the palms upwards. 

They're not shaking. They're just _there_. 

He saved a life today. More than one. Not to keep secrets or to stop a murderer. Just because he _could_. 

Those red boots come into his line of sight and he tilts his head up at the same time as he lowers his hands. All those powers, all that spandex, all that hair gel, and Lex still sees the schoolboy who lied to him from his very first word. 

Superman folds his arms across his chest. "Are you all right, Luthor?" 

It's always 'Luthor'. Never 'Mr Luthor' or 'Lex'. It's his way of showing disrespect. 

And it might hurt if it wasn't for the fact that his eyes can't lie now any better than they could when he was fifteen. 

Lex grins, squinting a little in the sun. "I'm fine thank you. Superman." Because really, as much as Lois does deserve to die, he still gets a kick out of watching the twitch that inevitably occurs whenever he uses that name. 

When Superman flies away Lex stands up, watching him go. There are still investigators here, taking statements, and somewhere metal crunches against metal. 

But Lex is still looking up at the sky. Superman is gone, but he... 

...he's still here. 

And it feels a little like destiny. 

* * *

Some kind of disguise is in order, Lex decides. His profile being what it is, he's instantly recognisable - and the lack of hair only makes him more so. In most of the circumstances his life has found him in so far that plays to his advantage, but for this he'll need to be unrecognisable. 

An unknown. 

He wonders if that's symbolic. 

He's an average artist but it's enough, and in the hours after work he sits at the desk in his apartment, sketching, trying out colours. 

Steering completely clear of primaries. 

Partway through the fifth design, he realises he's drawing Warrior Angel. He snorts softly to himself and shakes his head, remembering Ryan. That thought almost makes him want to go with the design, but it's far too obvious. 

Lex goes with black in the end - the idea of his 'uniform' being any other colour is frankly terrifying. Superman may be able to pull off other colours, but Superman is sunshine and cartoon birds; those songs about falling in love on a warm Saturday afternoon because it seems like the thing to do. 

The mask covers all of his head as well as a good portion of his face, stopping just on the tip of his nose. There will be holes for his eyes of course, and though he doesn't plan to do much talking, his mouth will be free of constraint. 

He investigates what kind of material it should be made of. He may heal faster than your average human and hasn't been sick since the meteor shower, but he's not invulnerable. He learns about clothes and substances that already exist that can protect him; stop bullets, even knives, and his money comes in very very useful. 

Not that anyone would know he was the one investigating. No one. 

Training becomes a ritual. He was already in good condition but he works harder, emphasising his muscles. Not too much - he has to look much the same beneath his work suits - but part of any good negotiation is intimidation. The best kind is when your target doesn't even know they're being intimidated, and that's something Lex specialises in. But while the psychology of it serves him well in every situation, out there the first thing they're going to get is the visual impression. He has to look, act and sound the part. 

He tightens up his fighting techniques and learns new ones, before starting training in the outfit. His body aches but it's a _good_ ache - one that he chose to take on. 

Weapons seem a little unfair, so in the end he settles only for those that are small and can be used defensively. Eventually he'll probably need 'gadgets', but he has the money for that, too. 

Plus (the Warrior Angel fan in him thinks a little geekily), every superhero needs gadgets. 

* * *

His gait changes when he goes out in the costume for the first time; and he finds himself staying in the shadows, unseen. It's an unusual experience for him. As far back as he can remember he's always been the centre of attention, always been the person that people looked _at_ , even if not the one they necessarily looked up to. 

The irony of Superman's life being the exact opposite isn't lost on him. 

Not having that convenient super hearing...yet...Lex had to instead seek out the less desirable areas of Metropolis. He'd been through all of them before but for entirely different reasons and though his memories of them weren't particularly pleasant, his familiarity with the city was bound to be useful. 

He moves from street to street, learning how to avoid people, and as he turns a corner into an alleyway- 

-there. 

Several dozen feet inside the alley. He doesn't know if the woman lying on the ground is unconscious from alcohol, drugs or a head injury, but the intent of the man leaning over her and frantically pulling down his pants is obvious. Rape. 

No, Lex amends mentally. Attempted rape. 

He moves closer, padding quietly on his feet and when he's a few feet away he draws himself up to his full height and attempts to exude a 'heroic' aura. 

"Leave her alone." 

Shit. How did Superman do this and not _laugh_? He was fighting off a severe case of hilarity. 

What the fuck was he doing? 

The thought struck him again as the man adjusted his clothes and stood up, turning to show off the very large gun he was holding. 

What. The fuck. Was he. Doing? 

He wasn't a superhero. Protective clothing and Matrixesque fantasies about his fighting skills could only go so far. If someone were absolutely intent on killing him, they'd probably find a way to succeed. 

And really, who needs a gun that big? Complete phallic overkill. Though that probably explains the rape attempt. 

The attacker's eyes rake over him and he smirks, clearly amused. Lex's pride doesn't even have time to be stung; he may be freaking out right now, but the fact remains that there's a man with a gun and getting shot would be a really bad idea. 

Okay. So he's not a superhero. But he can negotiate. Really, this is no different than being in a LexCorp meeting. 

"I said," shit, his voice would give out just then, "I said leave her alone." 

The smirk just increases. He really is an incredibly foul looking man. "Whatcha gonna do to stop me, leather boy?" 

Lex stops just short of pointing out that he isn't actually wearing leather, realising that the clarification would be lost. "You really want to know?" 

"I asked, didn't I?" 

And they are talking far too much. Lex is dimly aware of the fact that his body is intending to move just before it does and then it's happening. The man is bulky but he tenses too quickly, giving his movements away. It's almost easy for Lex to anticipate; to dodge the gun and knock it out of the rapist's hand. It becomes hand to hand then and _this_...this Lex knows really well. 

He kicks, ducks, swerves, hits, and almost before he realises it he's standing over the man's unconscious body, breathing heavily. 

Well. 

Well then. 

Blinking himself out of shock, he unclenches his fists, only noticing as he does so that they had still been closed. 

* * *

It starts slowly, as Lex suspected it would. He wasn't Superman; he didn't suddenly come swooping into the Daily Planet with an award winning investigative reporter in his arms, wearing an outfit that wouldn't be out of place at a Gay Pride march. No, instead there are the occasional footnotes, the one or two paragraph stories that turn up somewhere in the middle of the newspaper as page filler. 'Mysterious rescuer saves girl, aged 8', 'Man in black stops store robbery'. 

Of course he knows the moment Lois gets her greedy little hands on the story. The words practically scream from the front page of the Daily Planet: 

**'NEW SUPERHERO IN METROPOLIS?'**

Lois wouldn't know subtle if it tapped her on the shoulder and asked very politely indeed if she wouldn't mind moving her heel off of its toe. 

After that, things start to escalate. They talk about him on the news, on talks shows, everyone seemingly wanting to answer the same question: is Superman not alone after all? 

The complete and utter irony of that keeps a smile on his face for a week. He's pretty sure his secretary contacts his father more than once about signs of his mental instability. 

Now, of course, would be a smart time to bow out. Just as people are getting really curious, just as they're going to be keeping an eye out for him... 

Superman may stop for photos (time permitting), but not Lex. The denizens of Metropolis may have been universally blind (stupid) when it came to Superman's alter ego, but Lex isn't planning on taking that same chance. No interviews, no photo ops, no official _anything_. He expects to be caught on camera every now and then - it was the age they lived in, after all - but nothing unnecessary. Nothing intentional. 

And then one Thursday morning he turns on the TV and Superman is being interviewed. His finger had been on the next button already, preparing to change channel, but it freezes before moving elsewhere to raise the volume. 

They're outside, Superman and the reporter. She's holding a microphone up to his face; he's smiling widely with his arms folded across his chest. 

He always holds himself like that when he's standing still. 

Lex can't remember Clark ever doing the same. 

His hearing - or the volume button - kicks in. Superman is mid-flow. "-no idea who this person or 'superhero' is. I can honestly say that we've never met and for all I know he _could_ be a Kryptonian." He pauses then, looking directly at the camera, and just for a split second his eyes seem to change, soften, and Lex is staring at the face of his best friend as he listens to him say that he'll always be alone. Always. 

And then it's gone, Superman's attention back on the reporter. He's trying to be calm, relaxed, but Lex can _feel_ the tension of expectation radiating from his body, even through the TV screen. "Regardless, I do hope to meet him someday." 

"Maybe compare notes," the reporter says, thrusting her cleavage forward a little too much. 

Superman grins again. "Something like that." 

Lex turns off the TV in disgust. 

* * *

As it turns out, Superman's wish isn't so far away. 

Well, technically they don't 'meet' straight away but they start bumping into each other at accident sites. Sometimes Superman heads towards him afterwards but Lex immediately leaves as if Superman knows better than to follow him. He probably does. And it could explain why Superman hasn't x-rayed through his mask yet - for so long he's had to keep his own secrets that he understands about other people wanting to keep theirs. 

Ironically enough Lex's first meeting with him since he started patrolling isn't with Superman at all. 

It's with Clark Kent. 

It's stupid but he's out late in his car one night when he spies a woman trying to break into the building. He doesn't have his suit and by the time he goes back for it...he doesn't act, he _reacts_ , surprising her from behind and hoping like hell that she never saw his face. 

Someone stumbles over them before he can make his escape so he does the only thing he can: 

"It was that new superhero man. The one in the stylish black outfit?" 

He stays because just once he wants to see the aftermath of his actions and really, he should give his 'report' to the police. 

So when Lois turns up in almost no time at all (does she have a superhero radar or something?) with her partner in tow, he has absolutely no one to blame but himself. 

"Mr Luthor!" she yells, shoving a dictaphone under his nose, "would you mind telling us exactly what you saw? It was the new superhero, wasn't it?" 

Why doesn't _she_ just tell him what he's seen? "Miss Lane," he nods, his gaze barely scraping across the man standing just behind her, "Clark." 

"Lex." 

How, _how_ did the most persistently annoying investigative reporter in Metropolis not see through those glasses? Maybe they were imbued with some mysterious Kryptonian power. 

He's not even looking at Clark now, and all Lex can picture behind her is that arrogant, confident expression Superman always wears when he's trying to look scary. 

True, it usually works, but he's decided that it's mostly because people know what Superman's capable of if they don't co-operate. 

Still, the sooner he does this the sooner Lois will go away, so he gives her the quotes she needs before she leaves, mumbling something about not having photographs. 

Clark isn't going with her. Lex is not panicking. "Clark?" 

He looks...cautious. "Lex," he murmurs, eyeing the people closest to them carefully, "if you had a way to get in contact with this guy, you'd let me know, right?" 

Ah, life is good. "Tell you what, Clark. Next time I see him, I'll ask him." 

Clark nods, thankful, and Lex suddenly wonders if he's trying to deal with too many personalities at once. 

* * *

There's a warehouse fire the next week and Lex swings into action - literally. His uniform has adapted and changed as he's learned what's most useful and what works best. His hook guns definitely fall into the 'most useful' category; with them he can swing from building to building if so desired, which definitely increases the speed at which he moves through the city. True, he had all the elegance of a hippopotamus trying to ice skate when he first used them, but with a little time and a little practise he actually looks like he knows what he's doing most days. 

Lex is actually the first to arrive which surprises him a little, but then he remembers the earthquake report in Istanbul. Knowing what to expect thanks to the police scanner, he's purposefully brought his specially made fire mask with him, and just before he enters the building he pulls it on. 

The fire is...intense. Which doesn't seem like enough to describe it, but it's all that fits. His life becomes nothing more than heat, smoke and his own heavy breath resounding in his ears. 

He's pulling a third person out of the building when he sees a flash of red. It's been hard, tiring work, so he eagerly lets Superman take over, not minding at all as he takes the weight from him. And he doesn't interfere either as Superman dashes in and out of the building, saving the others in his place. This was about lives, not egos, and Superman worked so much faster than he could. 

A few dozen feet away from the warehouse he yanks off the mask and sucks in huge lungfulls of air, more grateful than ever for his lack of asthma. He stands bent over, hands clutching at the top of his knees, body aching. 

It's getting harder and harder to ignore the pain. 

He needs better drugs. 

When Superman walks - no flying, no running, _walking_ \- over to him a few minutes later, the fire is already out and the recently arrived paramedics are seeing to the injured. 

Lex is almost back to normal. 

Now that no one's in any danger Superman looks at him closely, taking in his appearance. 

Fighting the urge to clear his throat Lex stands up straight, clutching onto the mask with his left hand. 

Pausing a few feet away, Superman speaks cautiously. "Nice work in there." 

_This_ was a bizarre conversation to be having. Lex felt like he should be wearing a big sign that read 'Hey, I'm really Lex Luthor you idiot!'. "You too." 

Then he does something so stupid, so completely un-Superman, that Lex just gawks at him for the longest time. 

Lex watches in disbelief as Superman holds out his right hand, fully expecting it to be shaken. "Hi. I'm Superman. Nice to meet you." 

Any doubt that anyone had about where he'd been raised would have been dispelled with those few words. But Lex finds himself extending his own hand anyway, grasping Superman's firmly. "You too," he repeats. 

"What should I call you?" 

"I...don't have a name. Or at least not one that's been given to me." And really, what was taking them so long? 

His words, meant jokingly, must trigger something in Superman, because Lex _knows_ and sees the reaction on Superman's face the moment he uses his x-ray vision to look through Lex's mask. He makes a point of extricating his hand before it gets crushed in surprise and grins. "Think if I painted a big red 'L' on my chest they'd get a clue?" 

Superman's hand is still raised. " _Lex_?" he squeaks. 

Who knew superheroes were capable of singing soprano? But sadly, their time is up - Lex can see a news crew approaching from behind that cape, and he's not staying around for the cameras. Lifting his free hand he fires a hook into the highest building he can find, pulls the rope tight and lets the mechanised system swing him away. "See you around, Superman." 

* * *

Damn superspeed. 

What was the point of witty goodbyes when you were going to see the receiver of said goodbye again in just a few minutes? 

Lex glares at the man who's hovering outside his apartment when he arrives himself, landing comfortably on his balcony and letting the rope reel back into the gun. Sliding open the balcony door he steps inside, throwing the fire mask onto his bed. Turning around, he continues to glare at the man _still_ hovering outside his apartment. "I suppose telling you to go away would be redundant." 

Superman lands on the balcony quietly, but from that point on his movements, his voice, his actions - everything is so un-Superman that he might as well be free of that ridiculous uniform. "Lex, what the hell are you doing?" 

Arching an eyebrow Lex turns away, knowing he's in for a major hissy fit. "I should think that's abundantly clear," he says, walking towards his wardrobe, pulling at the mask covering most of his head. When it's off he sighs in relief; the heat build-up was getting to be quite something. He's going to have to look into that. 

Opening the wardrobe he flicks on the light, tosses the mask to the floor and begins unfastening his top. 

"To me it looks like you're risking your life in crazy and suicidal new ways." 

"Really?" Lex asks, with the tone of voice of someone patronising a vacuum cleaner salesman, "because to me it seems exactly the same as what you do." 

Superman snorts. So attractive. "That's ridiculous, Lex! You're not invulnerable. You're not fire-resistant." 

"No," he replies, facing Superman as he releases the last hook and maybe feeling just a little bit smug. "But my suit is." 

Were Superman feeling a little more vindictive Lex would be a smoking pile of ash right now, judging by the glare he's receiving. His former best friend is _not_ amused. 

And then a few moments later neither is Lex, as he pulls his top free from his body. A sudden flare of pain causes him to gasp, dropping the clothing to the ground as he grabs his wrist. Shit. He hadn't even noticed that until now, but there it is. A burn. 

Shit shit shit. 

Not big, but _fuck_ did it hurt. 

Adrenaline again? Denial? Didn't matter; what matters is that he has to- 

A strong hand suddenly wraps around his arm, pulling his whole body with it. Superman is holding firm, frogmarching him- 

"What are you...?" 

-into the bathroom. 

"When were you gonna tell me about _this_ , huh?" He sounds angry, slapping the light on, and then holding Lex's wrist under the cold water tap while he turns it on. Lifting his gaze, his expression _dares_ Lex to disagree with him. 

He almost wants to. 

"Don't move," Superman growls, releasing the arm to open Lex's bathroom cabinet and search through its contents. "You have any Savlon in here...?" he mutters, but it's obviously to himself. 

For the time being, Lex is quite happy to stay where he is. The cold water on his burn means he has this whole pleasure/pain thing going on, but when Superman touches his arm again and looks down to study the red mark, Lex realises he has some extraordinarily weird imagery right before his eyes. Superman. The hero. He of the red, blue and yellow, he of the _cape_ , is fussing over him like a...a something he isn't used to. 

This was too good an opportunity to pass up. "So tell me," he begins conversationally, drawing Superman's gaze up, "at precisely what point did you turn into your mother?" 

Superman just shakes his head and resumes his observation of the burn. "If that was an attempt to piss me off, it failed. My mother is one of the best people I know, and I'm thrilled at the comparison." 

Oh someone is so asking for a kryptonite ass-kicking. 

"Lex, seriously," the hand tightens on his arm; not painful, just more secure. The head stays down. "Why are you doing this?" 

His anger abates, a little. "I told you," he murmurs, "I just want to..." He sighs, knowing he's going to have to give the whole story, at least in this. "That traffic accident a few months ago..." 

"The one you were in?" 

He nods. "It was bad. Really bad. But I didn't even really think about it; I just started _helping_ people and ever since then..." Lex shrugs. "I'm not suicidal. I'm not looking to die. I just want to..." 

"Help." 

"Yeah." 

Superman stands, frowning, and stares at him for a long time. "You're completely serious about this." 

"I am, yes." His hand is suddenly released and he stumbles back, a little surprised. Still, that's a good thing, he tells himself. He isn't so sure the pain had been coming from the burn anymore. "Look, not that I don't appreciate your help, but maybe you should-" 

"Lex," 

His wrist hurts, god, his _arms_ hurt, and really it's been an extremely bad day. "Clark, _please_." 

The use of his name seems to do the trick. He blinks, several times, murmurs something about 'being careful', and then he's gone. 

Just gone. 

Surprised (not disappointed. Never disappointed.) Lex finishes tending to the burn himself, swallows a couple of Advil, and stumbles into the bedroom. He really shouldn't sleep in his uniform pants but removing them is suddenly just too much effort and his arms _ache_ , so he flops down onto the bed gratefully. 

His brain doesn't so much slide into unconsciousness as much as pull the plug. 

* * *

Lex is broken. 

He isn't entirely sure about the details, about in what specific _ways_ he's broken, but the fact that he can't convince his body to do anything he tells it to can't be good. 

He's a scientist. He knows these things. 

He's not even sure what they've done to him. He remembers receiving intel about a planned heist, remembers heading off to intercept and then...ow. 

A lot of ow. 

Actually the details probably aren't important at the moment. What's important is that he can't feel anything at all right now, and as pleasant as that is it's another Not Very Good Sign. 

Though his sense of touch may have been shot to hell, some senses - sound, for example - seem to be just fine. He can tell because just as he's contemplating a) whether to attempt something heroic, or b) managing to activate his vocal chords to scream like a little girl, there's a scream from someone else. 

There are more screams and he should probably be scared but then there's movement, almost too much (inner ear damage, maybe?), and though he still can't feel anything he suspects he should feel cold. 

Except for his side. His side should be warm. 

* * *

When he opens his eyes, he feels remarkably good. 

And then he realises. 

He _feels_. 

Lex opens his hands, stretches them, enjoying the slide of his palms against the covers on top of him and...wait. Everything's white. Everything's too white. 

Sitting up he lets the covers fall free as he stares at his surroundings. His mind takes them in and analyses everything that it sees - huge crystalline shapes that comprise parts of the wall and ceiling, a suspiciously robotic looking thing in the corner of the room - and comes up with one conclusion: not of this Earth. 

Yet he still has to be on Earth. As amazing as the things Superman can do are, he doubts that keeping a human alive as they fly through the vacuum of space is one of them. So where is he? Somewhere remote...unless this place has some kind of cloaking technology... 

He slips out of bed, only startled for a moment at his complete lack of injury as he looks down at his uniform-clad body, holding out his arms. He _knew_ he'd been broken, in half maybe, but that seems insignificant now as he walks towards the wall, his arms still extended. 

Running his hands over the crystals he gasps, smiling to himself, knowing that he looks like he's getting off on touching the wall but not caring. This is...this is so...how did he not know about this? He may have given up on actively investigating anything Clark-related a long time ago, but something like this? He should have known. He really should have known. 

Think. _Think_. Crystalline. Crystals. Crystals grew on Earth, though to his knowledge there were none this big above the surface (presuming he actually was above the surface). Still, was it possible this structure had been 'grown' somehow? Or had Superman built it himself, putting it together from some genetic memory or- 

"You're a complete nutcase, you know that, right?" 

Well. That sounds heroic. Lex glances over his shoulder to see Superman standing in what passes for the doorway, before turning his attention back to the wall. "Tell me how this got here. Did you build it? Did it...grow?" 

"What were you _thinking_ going after them like that? Twenty three men are too much, even for the great Lex Luthor." Either his voice gets louder as he mocks, or he's moving closer. "And I...I guess you could say it was the latter." 

Lex brushes off concerns about silly little things like his own mortality, trying to memorise the feel of the wall with his hands. "But how? What from?" 

"I'm serious, Lex, if you're going to keep doing this you need to learn your limits." He pauses. "Remember the crystal I found in the pod?" 

Lex's mind boggles. He's fairly certain his eyes do the same. "That did all this?" It'd been so...well, small. 

"It...spoke to me one day. Told me where to go. And did you really think that suit was going to protect you from a car going at eighty miles an hour?" 

Ohhh, is that what'd happened? Come to think of it, he does have a vague recollection of headlights. "Well, I may have been hit by a car travelling at eighty miles an hour," he turns his head and grins, "but at least I don't spend my free time conversing with-" 

"Highly intelligent pieces of crystal?" 

Frowning, Lex finally pulls his hands away from the wall. "What do you mean?" 

Now Superman is the one grinning before pursing his lips together and looking up at the ceiling deliberately. "Oh, Fortress..." 

The frown in Lex's forehead deepens as he also looks up, trying to see- 

"How may I assist you, Superman?" 

Ohholyshitfuckhell. That voice! Not human, not any kind of natural...he stares. Practically drools. "Artificial intelligence?" 

The resulting nod makes Lex wonder if it's too late to carry Superman's alien love child. 

* * *

The Fortress of Solitude isn't a particularly snappy name, but for once Lex isn't about to tell Superman that. Instead he's been spending hour after hour talking to the AI, learning more about Krypton, about Superman's people, their technology. Not that he understands most of their concepts, but the few that he does... 

Wow. 

He's not sure that he's ever thought that before. 

Plus, that thing had _healed_ him. Taken his battered, dying body, and somehow put it back together in such a way that his arms didn't even hurt anymore. 

Naturally Superman has to completely spoil the moment, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Lex, we really have to talk about this." 

Sighing to himself but acknowledging that the sooner they started the sooner it'd be over with, Lex shifts to look at him. "Okay. Talk." 

Superman launches into it immediately. Responsibility, safety, caution. He actively tunes in somewhere around "You can only do so much, and the same goes for me. It took me a long time to accept it - I didn't _want_ to accept it - but no one can be everywhere at once. You can't help everyone all of the time. And you certainly don't need to endanger yourself recklessly." 

Lex snorts, then pauses, recognising the noise. Damn him. And for all Superman's acting like his mother before, now he was definitely sounding like his father. "So help me, Clark, if you start calling me 'son'..." 

He rolls his eyes. "Just try and be a little more careful, okay?" 

"You're a fine one to talk." Lex can't help it, continuing at Superman's frown. "Kryptonite isn't much of a secret anymore, is it? Just about anyone interested in committing a crime in Metropolis knows it's your only weakness. You never know who you're going to go up against next, and for you all you know the next 'nutcase' you come across could have a piece of meteorite. Or specially made bullets. Or _something_!" 

He hadn't meant to get so worked up, he hadn't, but it just _pisses him off_ at how careless Superman can be sometimes. For all that he's done and seen in the world, in many ways Superman was still tragically naive. Lex could help. 

And he suddenly finds himself offering to do that, to take care of the things that Superman wouldn't even think of, wouldn't realise could come back and bite him in the ass somewhere along the line. Not that Superman was stupid - well, not often - but this was something Lex was good at. Planning. 

Thinking back to those headlights, he winces. Apart from in regard to himself, apparently. 

Providing proof of how stupid he isn't, Superman accepts his offer - though there is a lot of pausing and "You really don't have to," types of comments. 

"Don't worry," Lex assures him, shrugging easily, "it's the right thing to do." 

Superman moves suddenly, zipping off the bed, and now it's Lex's turn to blink, watching as Superman paces in the doorway. "Are you...?" 

"When I realised there was someone else in Metropolis like me I was..." he gestures with his hands, "God, I was _happy_! I mean I never really thought they...you...were Kryptonian, but just the idea that there was someone out there helping people just _because_..." he stops walking, holding Lex's gaze. "It actually made things a little easier. I want to thank you for that." 

It isn't everyday he gets thanked for...well, anything. The people he saves are usually too stunned or too unconscious to speak, and the people at LexCorp are...the people at LexCorp. "You're welcome," he replies, a little disturbed by how long it's been since he's said that. 

Superman grins, that huge, ginormous grin, the one that seems to make a rucksack appear over his right shoulder and clean all the gel out of his hair. "Okay," he says, "there's just one more thing I'd like to say..." 

* * *

It should probably worry him that it's taken him this long to get any meaning out of life, but instead he just finds himself revelling in the moment. His thoughts on life have always been about destiny, always been about the things he told himself he wasn't going to be - he wasn't going to be his father, or something even worse. For a while he'd been certain his destiny was linked with Superman's and with this new 'alliance', who knew? Maybe he'd been right about that all along. 

Or maybe not. Maybe there is no such thing as destiny, no way to determine your future. All that matters is what you do _now_ , and at this particular moment he was busy showing a few bank robbers that their way of withdrawing money needed a little finesse. 

Lex actually felt a kind of euphoria each time he took one of them down, enjoying the thuds more than he probably should - but hey, he did his best to make sure there was no serious damage. He'd have to ask Superman if he felt the same way when he fought, if he actually got any enjoyment out of it other than the knowledge than he was helping people. Not that that wasn't a laudable aim, it was just...curious. 

He chuckles to himself as one of them tries to rush him, and he steps simply out of the way- 

Suddenly finding himself at the side of the street, with a lamp post wrapped around him. 

What the fuck? 

He knows even before he catches a glimpse of that blurring form. "Superman!" 

The blur doesn't slow down until all of the bad guys are unconscious - which is only a few more seconds of course - and then Lex is out of the lamp post and travelling through the air with a warm body wrapped around him in much the same way. 

Something tells him Superman is pissed, but that's okay; Lex is too. 

By the time they land on the balcony Lex is steaming, barely able to get the door open in his rage (and quite willing to smash it out of the way if it pisses him off for much longer). He eventually barrels in, yanking his mask off and hurling it to the floor. It stings his skin, but that feels right given the mood he's in, and he swings around to do something else he hasn't done in a very long time. 

"What the _fuck_ was _that_?!" 

Superman is already stampeding towards him. "You promised me, you _swore_ you'd wait another week! That thing isn't used to healing humans, we had to make sure there were no side effec-" 

"What the hell was I supposed to do? It was happening just a few blocks away and you said it yourself - you can't be everywhere all the time! You were off in Australia-" 

"England." 

"-rescuing kangaroos or something, and I wasn't just going to wait on the odd chance that you might come back soon. I was good, I was careful, and the way you acted completely discredited me." 

"So this is about your ego?" 

"No, this is about _appearances_. We can't let them see us at odds with each other. They have to see us a certain way for us to be of any use - we can't show them weakness, or a lack of unity. We're not supposed to be like them. That's not what they want." The talking - perhaps appropriately - drains most of the anger out of him. He slumps, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Look, I...appreciate your concern for me. I really do. But while Metropolis is your home and you have a focus here, you help patrol the entire _world_. I'm here. Just here. This one city. At least give me a little leeway in protecting the place that _I_ call home." 

There. His piece said. He stays where he is, catching his breath. 

Superman is holding that pose again like his arms are welded onto his chest but slowly, ever so slowly, his stance relaxes. "I, uh, probably overreacted." 

"Probably?" Lex queries. 

"Which is not to say I didn't have a good point," he insists. 

Can he even admit that he was actually wrong about something? "You're right - I probably should have waited." Well. Apparently he can. Who knew? 

"But in your place..." Superman dips his head a little. "I probably would have done the same thing. It's just..." He looks away, out towards the balcony. "I thought we were kinda getting to be friends again. Maybe. Sort of." He shrugs, and Lex realises just how much he's missed that blush. "I liked that we were." 

In truth he isn't the only one feeling that way, not by a long shot, and Lex stands up suddenly in desperate for a drink. 

Only realising when he reaches what used to be his bar area, that now he only has soda water because really, alcohol isn't very conducive to a superhero career. Shit. Fine, soda water it is. 

"Why did you go away?" 

Lex freezes, his back tensing. The words were so softly spoken that he could ignore them completely, but they both knew he'd heard them. He threw back a mouthful of water. "I didn't go anywhere, Superman. I've been here, in Metropolis. All along." 

"You stopped answering my phone calls. Ignored my e-mails. I may be a little slow on the uptake but even I know how to take a hint eventually. Did I...what did I _do_?" 

The voice is so close now, so close, that Lex swears he can feel breath on the back of his head. He is _not_ going to turn around, and as his hand tightens on the glass the words come whispering out of him. Fuck. "You lied to me." 

Superman's unmistakable confusion might have been amusing at any other time. "But I... _what_? I told you everything. _Everything_. Who I am, where I came from, what I can do. About Lara, Jor'El, Kryptonite. I showed you the pod, the language; god, I even told you how fucking scary it is." 

No. No. Lex shakes his head. Now would be a really good time for scotch. "Our friendship ended. It just...happened." 

"Bullshit. You're Lex Luthor; nothing ever 'just happens' around you. You make things happen." 

Now that's a statement Lex can vehemently disagree with. This wasn't supposed to be happening at all. 

And when did Clark pick up that proclivity for cursing so much? 

"Part of the reason I even went to MetU was so I could be close to where you were working. You were my best friend, Lex." His tirade pauses for a few moments. "And now you can barely bring yourself to say my name." 

Lex stares down at the top of the bar, very aware that his mind is telling him this is going to happen no matter what say he has in the matter. "You lied to me," he repeats, stronger this time, placing the glass down very very carefully on the bar and oh so calmly turning around. 

"After I told you my secret I never lied to you about _any_ -" 

"About your boyfriend." 

Interesting. Superman's entire face dropped. 

"It was a few years ago now but I'm sure you remember him. Clark." Oh, and he's always thought that twitch only appears when he uses the S name, hasn't he? "Greg, wasn't it? Seemed like a nice guy. So no, Clark. This wasn't about Krypton, or accidents that you claimed never happened; this is about the fact that you could tell me that you were an alien, but you couldn't tell me that you were fucking gay!" 

He steps around Superman then, walking to the other side of the room near the balcony. It seems safer there. "Shit, Clark. What did you think? That I'd be appalled? Scared? Disgusted? Did it never once enter your mind that I'd _understand_?" 

And Superman, Superman who still isn't moving, who still has his back towards him, slowly says it: 

"I thought you knew." 

Lex's brain momentarily travels to an alternate universe. 

"It didn't last long, but when we were together, Greg and I..." Clark pauses, the cape shifting a little as he moves but doesn't turn around. Shuffling his feet? "Well, we weren't subtle. Didn't figure we needed to be. But when you pulled away...well, I thought it was because of that." 

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _Fuck_. He's speaking aloud at some point because suddenly Clark is in front of him, asking if he's okay and he's not, he's really not and he's so fucking _stupid_ because it was about that, but not in the way Clark thought, and his father was right, he is ruled by his emotions and they'd ruined the one good thing he had ever- 

-and he's against a wall, hard but not hurting, a warm body pressed against his and he's actually _objecting_ because this isn't what happens, this doesn't fix everything, doesn't make it okay, this isn't what happens- 

"You're Lex Luthor," a hard, hot, and completely unrecognisable voice is millimeters away from his mouth, " _Make_ it happen." 

No further objection as their mouths slide together, as they rock against each other and the wall, and he's gasping already and it won't be pretty this first time, won't be perfect, won't be all the things it should be, but he pushes Clark back far enough to tell him to rip all their fucking clothes off and just a few moments later it's done and though he's dizzy he's back up against the wall where he belongs. 

The grinding resumes in earnest, flesh against flesh, no shame, no embarrassment, and he's not gonna last long but that seems right somehow because this is _Clark_ , and Jesus his body is amazing, and he doesn't even need to touch himself just as long as he keep rubbing right _there_ right _there_ right- 

His body stiffens, Lex groans, and he comes with a mouth on his neck and his hands digging into Clark's gel-slickened hair. 

* * *

Much much later, after they've actually made it to the bed, Lex is almost asleep. Half-dreaming half-fantasising about swooping, flying through the city, he sighs contentedly when the hand splayed across his back moves, rubbing over his skin. 

Okay. Not so sleepy anymore. 

"Lex?" 

Yes. Right there. _That_ is the only voice he wants to hear at this hour every single night. "Clark?" He stretches but doesn't move otherwise - yet. 

The hand rubs over the top of his ass. He nearly purrs. 

"I'm sorry if I've been a little," he's no doubt searching for the right word, "over-protective." He knows this is important so Lex moves his head until it's turned the other way on the pillow, facing Clark. 

And wow (there's that word again), what a view he was missing out on. Clark, sprawled on his front, his body covered in nothing but the moonlight. 

But he's talking. Right. 

"It's just that as far back as I can remember, I always had to keep the people I loved out of danger. Stop them from taking those risks they didn't need to. It sounds ridiculous but it always felt like I was their...bodyguard, or something. That I could help others, but that I was really there especially for them." 

Smiling, Lex rolls onto his side, inching closer. "I don't mind you being my bodyguard, Clark." 

Clark's hand is definitely helping with the inching, his own body mimicking Lex's movements. "You don't?" 

Shaking his head, Lex leans forward and licks a trail over Clark's neck, just because it's something he's always wanted to do. "Not if you're dressed like that every day." 

A rumble of laughter and then Lex is moving, rolling them until he's straddling Clark, holding his arms down. He meets his eyes. "I'm not going to stop." 

Clark nods, his hands twitching to be released but not forcing them free the way they both know he could. "I know. But..." 

Lex leans down to kiss him, rocking their lower bodies together. His breath catches and Clark groans. "But what?" he asks, as he pulls away, breathless. 

Those eyes; deep, dark and familiar, smile up at him. "Can I at least give you a few pointers?" 

**~FINIS**


End file.
